


Undressed

by homosociallyyours



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, Face Slapping, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 09:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosociallyyours/pseuds/homosociallyyours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There just aren't enough hot and dirty mormor blowjobs that feature Jim in hot lingerie and a needy, greedy, eager to please Sebastian who follows orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undressed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msaether](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msaether/gifts).



> Several months ago I saw [this](http://tmblr.co/Z0sn1vRpGgZR) on tumblr. And immediately I thought that it would be very nice indeed if Moriarty wore fancy lingerie under his suits. 
> 
> I didn't necessarily intend for the rough blow job to play a part in this, but the heart wants what the heart wants. 
> 
> This fic is a gift for the lovely and amazing msaether, who I think might have introduced me to mormor (bless) and with whom, as we've discovered, I share a few good kinks. Hopefully this has a few of them.
> 
> Many thanks to my darling betas, [Ray](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rayvanfox/) and [Damian](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spadesinspades). I couldn't have finished this story without them.

The routine is simple, no different to Seb from cleaning his gun or making his bed with tight hospital corners. Jim’s footsteps announce his arrival, and by the time his key turns in the lock, Seb stands at the front door, arms clasped behind his back, chest out and muscles clenched. Dark eyes cast down. He wears slim, well-cut black trousers, a pair of tight black briefs underneath, dark socks, and heavy military boots. No shirt. Jim likes the look of him without a shirt. 

 

Jim pushes through the door, stopping abruptly and turning his back to Seb’s chest. Carefully, Seb removes Jim’s expensive suit coat. The Westwood. He follows behind Jim, holding it reverently in front of him like an altar boy bearing the eucharist. They walk into Jim’s bedroom. The coat is laid down, again carefully. Seb holds his breath, smoothing it out, remembering the time he faltered in this action--the slow twist of Jim’s head, and the quickness with which he drew his knife. The scar has healed, but Seb is more careful now. It’s all down to muscle memory, anyway. 

 

Jim stands at the foot of the bed, now facing Seb. Sebastian hardly notices their height difference anymore, though this part of their ritual always reminds him of it. Jim’s head comes just to the top of Seb’s chest, right beneath Seb’s neck. At their first meeting, Seb thought of it as a tactical advantage, something he could have over Jim, even if the man was his boss. He’d been cured of that thought pretty quickly, though. Physical disadvantage doesn’t exist for Jim Moriarty. His cruelty and quick brain make sure of that. Seb suppresses a small smile and continues on with his duties. 

 

Seb takes the phone from Jim’s hand and sets it on the bedside table, then returns to Jim’s outstretched, upturned arms so that he can remove Jim’s cufflinks (24 carat gold, returned to their Tiffany&Co. box) and watch (a vintage piece that Seb wraps in black velvet). He loosens Jim’s tie, his fingers working deftly at the knot of silk. Setting it aside, Seb takes a breath. He needs to work quickly, perfectly, but the rules are clear: he has to do it all without removing his eyes from Jim’s. 

 

Jim’s eyes are a deep, charred brown-black that almost never betray emotion. They’re sharp, precise, exacting. Like Jim, they give just enough away to create a tether between him and Seb, but never enough to feed him. Their darkness is unsettling, and yet after learning the game Seb finds they anchor him during this part. Unblinking, Seb cracks his knuckles and reaches out to begin. 

 

The trick is to work with absolute precision, to envision each step the second before he must do it and then to let his hands work rapid fire while his mind remains focused. It’s not unlike getting ready to hit a moving target, really. Because that’s what Jim is. 

 

He untucks Jim’s shirt and, without faltering, undoes each button. He breathes in and out, slowly and deliberately, as Jim’s dark eyes bore into him, willing him to miss something. Jim shrugs the shirt off, letting it drift from his fingertips to the bed behind him. He raises an expectant eyebrow at Seb, who reaches down and unfastens Jim’s belt with his right hand, sliding it out of its loops in a smooth motion. With his left, he undoes the button and zip of Jim’s trousers, then takes a step back as Jim steps out of them. 

 

Seb’s eyes are still locked to Jim’s, and he imagines their inky darkness spreading to engulf him. He swallows hard, and watches Jim watch the movement of his throat. He isn’t allowed to look down though, not yet. 

 

“Close your eyes, Sebastian.” Jim sounds petulant and annoyed, and Seb quickly complies. He wonders if he’s fucked up, and replays their scene in his mind even as he listens to Jim’s footsteps crossing the room. No, no, he did everything right, he’s sure.

 

“Open, Seb.” 

 

Looking up, Seb is rewarded with his favorite sight. The first time they’d played this game, he had just glanced down for a moment to make sure to properly grasp the zipper of Jim’s trousers. Seeing the hint of black satin at Jim’s waist, he had gasped and looked back up immediately. Jim had slapped him, hard, on both sides of his face before calling him a bad boy and telling him he’d get nothing that night. Even with only the sting on his cheeks and that small glimpse of fabric, he had enough wanking material to carry him through to morning. Now, though. Now. 

 

The lingerie is black, always. It’s sheer, simple, elegant. Agent Provocateur, he remembers Jim telling him. Classically tailored and expensive and wicked, like Jim. Seb bites his lip and exhales, and Jim raises an eyebrow. “Shoes, Seb. Choose properly.” 

 

Seb crosses to the closet and scans his choices carefully. He fetches a pair of black stilettos, four inches high and perfectly polished. He kneels as he places them at Jim’s feet, careful to keep his eyes cast down. Jim steps into the shoes and lets out a small chuckle as he notices Seb licking his lips. 

 

The first time Seb got this far, he reached out a tentative hand and stroked up Jim’s leg, toward his cock. He was treated to Jim’s knee slamming hard into his face, resulting in a broken nose, and a knife-sharp heel at his throat as Jim hissed, “dare fucking touch me without my permission and you will lose an eye next time, Seb my boy.” 

 

And so he rocks back on his heels and just looks, admiring the stretch of Jim’s calves and the tension of his ass. Seb exhales a ragged breath as Jim settles slowly onto the bed. He is mesmerized by the look of Jim’s pale skin against the black of the lingerie and the crisp white of the duvet. Though he aches to touch--himself or Jim--he resists again, waiting for Jim’s next command. 

 

Finally Jim kneels on the bed and beckons for Seb to kneel in front of him. His cock is exposed and half-hard, and Seb can smell him from this short distance, sex and money; blood and knives and danger; gunpowder. He stops breathing, though his mouth hangs open. He is always at a loss for movement or words when faced with Jim’s cock. 

 

“Hands behind your back, Seb,” Jim purrs. Seb clasps his hands behind him and watches Jim’s cock harden fully as he takes in the need in Seb’s eyes. The anticipation is killing him, but he swallows it down and waits. 

 

“Open,” he says, taking Seb’s chin in his hand and tilting up. Seb opens his mouth, and Jim shakes his head slightly before slapping him hard across the cheek. “I said OPEN, Seb,” he chides, pulling Sebastian’s mouth open wider with his thumb. He moves his other hand to the back of Seb’s neck and grips it hard, shoving his cock down Seb’s throat. 

 

“Suck me,” he hisses, and Seb complies. 

 

Jim is always a bit rough at first, and so Seb’s first duty is simply to hold on. To open himself to the force of Jim’s prick and not gag. It has always been a challenge, but now he’s developed enough control that he just wills the back of his throat open and lets Jim in as deep as he can go. When Jim slides his hands away from Seb’s neck and head, Seb backs off just a bit, easing his mouth back until he’s only sucking the tip of Jim’s cock, circling it with his tongue.  
He chances a look up at Jim, and is met with dark eyes staring down at him, cold and unreadable. 

 

Jim’s hands are at the back of Seb’s head almost instantly, pushing Seb onto his cock again as he thrusts in hard. “Uh uh, Seb, no looking until I tell you to. You have a target, and that’s where you keep your eyes. On. My. Cock.” He cants his hips forward to accent each word as Sebastian tries to continue suppressing his gag reflex. His throat is thick with saliva, and his eyes water at the pressure. He really should have known better. 

 

It’s been awhile since Seb has tried looking up at Jim like that. His first offense was brushed off with a smack and a warning, but his second caused him to be forced into a leather collar for a month. Jim had led him around on it every night, calling Seb a bad boy and telling him this was all part of his “training.” Certainly Seb hasn’t let his eyes meet Jim’s in a while, not during this part of the game. He feels Jim easing his grip and thanks the man with harder suction and the press of his tongue along the underside of Jim’s cock. 

 

“Hmm. Almost thought we’d have to put you back in the remedial class for a moment there.” Seb hums against his cock, pleased by Jim’s response. It’s not approval, but it’s as close as Jim gets. He starts working Jim’s length in his own rhythm, taking it into the back of his throat, but slowly, and easing off while his tongue swirls along Jim's shaft.

 

Jim’s breath catches and he suddenly spits out, “Perfect, Seb.” His voice is full of heat and heavy with loathing, and Sebastian feels his own desire ratcheting up to meet Jim’s. “Oh, what a good little soldier. Doing just what the boss wants..” It’s part of the game, Seb knows. Jim turning mean, disdainful. He hears the want behind it and knows that Jim is getting close. He glances down and to the side, watching the muscles of Jim’s thigh twitch and shake. Seb is hard too now, completely, and thinks he could come with one touch from Jim. That’s not part of this game, though. 

 

Seb uses his teeth, lightly, adding to the pressure around Jim’s cock. He likes that when he’s close. “Oh, Seb. Always so obedient. Taking your boss’ orders and making them a part of you. Until it's reflex. With. Out. Error.” Jim’s hand is back on Seb’s head, pressing him in until Seb can’t breathe, his nose pressed into the flesh above Jim’s cock and his mouth filling with Jim’s come as Jim stifles a low moan. He does his best to swallow, but when Jim finally releases him he rocks back on his heels, choking and coughing, his eyes stinging with involuntary tears. 

 

He’s breathing hard and fast, longing to touch himself but waiting for Jim’s approval. His eyes dart up and find that Jim’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back a bit and his chest flushed with pleasure. Seb looks back down quickly, thankful that Jim didn’t catch another stolen glance from him this evening. 

 

Jim falls back onto the bed and announces flippantly, “Boring! The most boring fuck yet, Seb. Take care of yourself now and then clean up.” 

 

Seb’s fly is down and his cock out within seconds, and it takes him just a few strokes before he’s spilling into his own hand, biting his lip to stop himself from calling out Jim’s name. He wipes his come on his bare chest and rolls his head from side to side, releasing the tension that’s built up in his neck and shoulders. He rises to leave, but Jim motions for him to come over. 

 

Locking eyes with Sebastian, Jim trails his index finger slowly up Seb’s chest, through the trail of come that’s quickly drying. With the slightest nod of his head, he draws Sebastian forward and presses the finger to his lips. Seb takes it into his mouth, the taste of his own semen mixing with Jim’s. He releases it and Jim turns his expressionless face away slowly. 

 

Sebastian moves methodically toward his room at the other end of the hall, opening the door and striding purposefully toward the bed. He’ll clean up later. Right now, he throws on a plain white t-shirt and takes out his gun. Piece by piece, he takes it apart, the component parts dark and hard in his hands. He is slow and methodical, unwavering, swallowed by the beauty of such a perfect routine.


End file.
